Page 42 of Twisted Play
Violetta peered over my shoulder, not bothering to hide her curiosity. “Absolutely not,” she said, clutching my jean-clad thigh as I started to slide out of the booth. “Make him come to you. Which one is it?”
“Cornrows, sharp cheekbones, golden eyes, looking at me like he wants to eat me for breakfast.”
“Oh, shit,” she said with a grin when she found him standing beside Cole. “He’s gorgeous. And so’s his friend.”
Cole glared at me.
Shit.
Violetta crooked her finger at the boys and gestured for them to join us. Tristan took two steps forward before Cole grabbed his shoulder and whispered something in his ear.
Tristan looked at his best friend for a long moment, his face utterly blank, before grinning, elbowing Cole, and then heading toward me. Cole followed, his expression faintly disgusted, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of me.
I shrank in on myself before Violetta elbowed me in the stomach, her elbow sinking into the soft rolls.
“Stop it,” she said. “You’re hot. Long red hair, tits for days, and an ass to die for.”
“Hey, ladies.” Tristan grinned, and my heart did a goddamned loop-di-loop in my chest.
“Sparrow, ladies,” Cole said, nodding at me. Tristan stood by the table, waiting for…?
Oh.
Violetta grinned and smooshed herself against the wall, looping her arm around my waist and encouraging me to scoot closer to her. “Take a seat, boys.”
Tristan slid in beside me, his thigh pressing against mine.
Rory and Sage didn’t move, so Cole snagged a chair from a neighboring table and took his place at the end, his gaze never leaving my face.
Guilt racked me. I was letting the coach sexually abuse me so I could provide Cole’s father with blackmail material that would ruin him and everyone else on the team.
What the fuck was I doing?
Rory immediately sussed out the tension between meand Cole and turned to him like the excellent wing woman she was.
He shook his head. “You don’t have to entertain me—watching Tristan fall over this little sparrow is entertaining enough.”
Tristan didn’t say a word. He just squeezed my knee, sending electricity crackling up my spine.
“Don’t be an asshole,” he said to Cole, immediately turning the conversation to our classes and friends we had in common. He was working hard to charm my friends, and that told me more about him than anything else—it must have been absolutely clear that the way to my heart was through these women, and he was willing to do the work to get there.
I couldn’t pay attention to the conversation around us, not with the heat of Tristan’s palm burning into my skin through my pants. Every stroke of his thumb against the outside of my knee recalled the fiery memory of that moment in the library last week.
When I squirmed in my seat, absurdly turned on by the simple touch, Cole caught my eyes and smiled cruelly, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.
“Sparrow,” he murmured, “what are you doing?”
I shrugged, helpless to answer because I sure as fuck had no idea.
“Do you think Tristan has time to date?”
“I told him I don’t date,” I murmured, leaning forward a bit so Cole and I could talk while Tristan regaled Violetta with hockey stories over my back. “He’s persistent.”
Cole’s bright blue eyes darkened, and his gaze grew hooded. “So am I.”
“What do you want?”
Cole smiled. “Tristan. You. World domination.”
